


Outside Assistance

by Mireille



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-30
Updated: 2005-06-30
Packaged: 2019-03-10 21:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13510416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Angel needs a translator with no connection to the Senior Partners, and turns to an old acquaintance. Set in an AU version of season five.





	Outside Assistance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Escape from LA ficathon in 2005, the point of which is that Wesley left or never went to LA after leaving Sunnydale.

The building had obviously never been intended for office space; Angel had gone up three flights of stairs before discovering that it was impossible to get from the east wing to the west from any floor above the first, and had to retrace his steps. The ceiling was low enough that Angel had to stoop a bit, and the floorboards squeaked under his feet, no matter how lightly he tried to tread. He wondered how many students came up for help after their evening class; he'd bet that a lot of them found this building far too creepy after dark, even without a vampire lurking in the hall outside their professor's office. 

The door wasn't closed, just pulled halfway shut, and so Angel pushed it open, though he remained outside in the hall. He didn't know how good the man's reflexes were, these days--probably not the best, from what Angel could remember, but he was a little paranoid lately. 

Okay, he was a _lot_ paranoid, even if Spike was the one who said it, most of the time, and he hated agreeing with Spike. Still, the man _had_ been trained to kill vampires, and Angel didn't want to be dusted. Not at the moment. 

"Professor Wyndam-Pryce?"

Wesley looked up, giving Angel a slightly self-deprecating smile. "It's 'Mister,' actually, not 'Professor,' until I finish my dissertation." The smile turned into a vague, perplexed frown as he looked at Angel, and then Wesley's brow cleared in recognition. "I must say, you're the last person I'd ever have expected to see here."

He was the last person he'd ever have expected to _be_ here, too. He belonged in Los Angeles. This city wasn't even big enough to have a good, navigable sewer system. It was only luck that Wesley had been teaching a night class this semester and Angel had been able to approach him at work. But he'd needed a translator, and he was fairly certain Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had no connection to the Senior Partners, or anyone else that Angel had good reason not to trust at the moment. 

And once he'd come up with the name, he'd sung for Lorne; after Lorne had recovered from Angel's rendition of "Fire and Rain," he'd told Angel that he was doing the right thing. 

Actually, no. He'd said that Angel would find what he was looking for, but he might not be happy about the answers he got. Angel thought about the scroll locked in the safe in his hotel room. Even if it _wasn't_ any help in dealing with the Senior Partners, he had to try. It wasn't as though he couldn't afford whatever Wesley charged him for the translation. At least he would have tried. 

Angel gave Wesley an attempt at a polite smile. "I need someone to translate a scroll for me, and I've heard you do a little freelance work."

Wesley nodded, pushing aside the stack of papers he'd obviously been marking. "You know you don't need an invitation to come in here."

"It wasn't a vampire thing. Just a… I wasn't sure if I'd be welcome. You know, vampire, ex-Watcher…." 

"Come in," Wesley said, and Angel did, taking one of the hard wooden chairs in front of Wesley's desk. The office was sparsely furnished, with furniture that had obviously been in use for decades and books stacked on every available surface. Classics, Angel's background check had informed him, and the books seemed to support that. 

Wesley still looked much the same as he had in Sunnydale--dark suit, crisp white shirt, serious expression--but he'd changed a little. His hair was longer--still quite conservatively short, but in a more casual style than it had been when Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had been Buffy's Watcher. He looked as though he'd added ten pounds or so, and Angel would have bet that most, if not all, of it was muscle. 

But the most striking change was how much more self-assured Wesley seemed now. Far from what Angel had been expecting, he was perfectly calm and businesslike as he said, "Now. You said something about a translation?"

"That's right. There's a scroll we, uh, acquired." Spike had stolen it, as it happened, but he wasn't sure he wanted to try to explain Spike. He didn't know what Wesley had heard. Wesley wasn't a Watcher any longer, but he might still have connections. 

Wesley was silent for a moment before saying, "I would have thought you would have had all the translators Wolfram and Hart's money could buy."

"You, uh. You know about that?" 

"I do still know a few people," he said. 

Angel wondered who, and how, but he didn't ask. He got the feeling Wesley probably wasn't going to tell him. "Yeah, well. Wolfram and Hart doesn't need to know about this scroll," he explained. "We-- my people--" He thought about how Spike would react to being called one of Angel's people, and grinned a bit in spite of himself. "We acquired it, and we don't want to get the firm involved."

"Your people?"

He nodded. "I used to have… we used to be Angel Investigations, but now we, um. Run an evil law firm."

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like an intriguing story."

"Not really." At least, not one that Angel could tell. No one could know about Connor, about the deal he'd made to save him. And no one who hadn't been there for the past several years could understand that they'd have taken any chance, no matter how small, to bring Wolfram and Hart down. "What about you?" he said, quickly. Lorne would be impressed; he was actually attempting to make small talk. "How did you end up here?"

"I needed a steady job," Wesley said, "and the college was willing to hire me on a provisional basis while I worked on my doctorate." 

He wondered how Wesley had found himself all the way across the country. He wondered if Wesley were better at teaching than he'd been as a Watcher. 

He was wondering entirely too much about Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, and there was no justification for that at all. Maybe it was just having someone else to talk to, someone familiar, but without the associated guilt of knowing that his memory had been changed because of Angel. 

Well, Spike's memories hadn't been altered, and he still didn't want to talk to Spike, but that was the exception. 

"The scroll," Angel said, before he spent any more time wondering what Wesley had been doing for the past five years, and hoping that they'd been better for him than they had for anyone else Angel had known. 

"Yes. Is it in a human language?"

"I think so, but I don't know which one." 

"It might take a little while," Wesley warned him. "If it's not a language I'm familiar with--"

"That's fine. And if you have any unforeseen expenses--books, or anything--let me know. I'm offering you the standard fee the firm pays translators, but you don't have to cover expenses out of that."

Wesley didn't ask him to name a figure. Angel wondered if Wolfram and Hart were well enough known that he'd be comfortable assuming that their standard fee was sufficient. Maybe they were. Or maybe Wesley was just too trusting. Angel hadn't dealt with anyone like that for a while, but he did remember that they existed. 

"I'll furnish you with receipts, of course," Wesley said, all business. 

He nodded. "I don't have the scroll with me; I didn't want to take it out when I wasn't sure you'd be interested."

"That's quite all right." Smiling a little, Wesley gestured toward the pile of papers. "I have a stack of essays to grade, anyway. I wouldn't be able to get to the scroll for a day or two."

"It's not urgent. Important, but not--it's not like the world ends if we don't have it by Friday. I hope." He took out his checkbook and started writing out a check. 

"Good. Translation work can be a bit tricky. I'll do it as quickly as I can, but I want to be able to do a good job." 

"I'm sure you will." When Wesley didn't say anything, he went on. "Half the fee now, half when you finish--will that be okay?" Angel said, already signing his name to the check. 

"That seems quite reasonable," Wesley said. It occurred to Angel that half the fee he was paying for translation--the standard fee Wolfram & Hart paid outside contractors--was probably more than Wesley the college professor made in a month. If he hadn't been using company funds, Angel would never have considered paying _anyone_ this much for _anything_.

Well, if Wesley could help them take out the Senior Partners, he'd deserve every penny. Angel signed his name with a flourish and held the check out. 

Wesley took it; his hand felt hot when it touched Angel's skin, warmer than human flesh normally did. His grip was stronger than Angel would have expected after meeting him in Sunnydale, too. 

Was Angel imagining it, or had Wesley prolonged the contact more than strictly necessary? Maybe he'd do what Lorne kept telling him to, and actually try to be social, just this once. There could be dinner--for Wesley, anyway. Or drinks, or coffee, or something. 

And then, as Wesley drew back, holding the check, Angel's fingers brushed across cool metal, and he glanced down to see a heavy gold band on the third finger of Wesley's left hand. "You're married?" 

Wesley smiled, picking up a small picture frame from his desk and handing it to Angel before tucking the check away inside his jacket. "Nearly four years now. Her name's Elisabeth." 

It was a family portrait; a young woman smiled down at the infant she was cradling in her arms, while Wesley held a small girl who had her mother's dark hair and her father's eyes. 

"That's Janet," Wesley said, his voice filled with pride, "and the baby's Michael."

For a moment, Angel wondered if he'd sounded like that, if he'd been smiling like that, when he'd held Connor. Then he pushed those thoughts away and forced himself to smile back at Wesley. "They're… they look like great kids."

"They are," Wesley agreed.

Of course they were. Of course Wesley would have found someone--obviously, getting away from the Council had been good for him, and it wasn't as though Angel could reasonably believe that he was the only person in the past five years to find Wesley attractive. 

Of course Wesley would be married, with kids--kids he'd get to see grow up, kids who would never try to murder him, or to bury him at the bottom of the ocean. Of course he'd be happy. "I'll, um. I'll bring you the scroll tomorrow night?"

"Make it Thursday," Wesley said. "I don't teach tomorrow night, and we have plans."

He nodded. "Thursday, okay. Is this a good time?"

"This will be just fine." 

As Angel let himself out, Wesley picked up his pen again, returning to his papers. 

***

Two nights later, Angel was once again sitting in the hard wooden chair in front of Wesley's desk, a mug with the Chandler College school mascot on it in his hands. "You didn't have to go to this much trouble," he said, taking a drink of the warmed-over blood. 

"It wasn't any trouble," Wesley said. "It isn't that hard to get one's hands on animal blood, if one knows where to look."

"And you do."

"Obviously."

"I thought you were just a college professor now? What does a teacher need with pig's blood?" Angel had been doing some checking up on Wesley Wyndam-Pryce in the past two days. He hadn't had much else to occupy his time, after all, although he'd gone to a hockey game. He'd never thought of anyone playing ice hockey this far south, but apparently they did. Just not very well. 

And what he'd found out hadn't really backed up the just-a-teacher story. It didn't completely contradict it, but it left him with some questions, and before he handed over the scroll to Wesley, he wanted a few answers. 

"Nothing," Wesley admitted. "But a Watcher, even an ex-Watcher, likes to be prepared." He was silent for a moment, looking lost in thought, and then said, "And I've kept my hand in a bit."

"I'd heard something like that," Angel said. "I was wondering."

"I have children now," he said. "When I've found out that there's anything supernatural in our neighborhood, I… I've done what I can to deal with it. I know it's rather risky, but I have to protect them." He sighed. "I'm not sure I can explain it better than that, and I'm not certain that anyone who's not a parent can--"

"I understand," Angel said, softly. Oh, yes, he understood. He'd have done anything to protect Connor. He _had_ done whatever he could to protect Connor, even when Connor had hated him. When he'd spent more than six months last year at the bottom of the ocean, until Connor had let something slip and Gunn had found him. 

Wesley gave him an odd look, but apparently decided not to comment. "So. You had a detective agency?" he said, obviously changing the subject. 

"Yeah. It was a small thing--just a few of us. You knew one of them," he added after a moment. "Cordelia Chase. From Sunnydale." 

"Cordelia?" Wesley smiled. "Yes, I remember her. Does she still work with you now that you've, ah… changed tactics?"

"She would," Angel said, firmly, not letting himself doubt that for a moment; Cordelia would understand what they were trying to do. "But she's… she's in a coma. It's a long story, and I don't really want to get into it, but… we're doing all we can for her."

"I'm sorry," Wesley said quietly. 

They sat there for a little longer, Angel drinking his blood and Wesley his coffee, in a silence that wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as Angel would have expected. "You probably want to take a look at the scroll," he said at last. 

"Yes, of course." Wesley set down his cup and put his glasses back on as Angel took the scroll out of its protective box. He unrolled the first few inches as soon as Angel handed it to him, studying it intently. 

Angel just sat quietly, watching him. Wondering how much easier things would have been, the past few years, if they'd had someone like Wesley around, someone with the knowledge they lacked. If they'd had someone around who could have handled the translations, research, spells--all the things someone with Council training would have found simple--instead of having to struggle and deal and call in favors. 

And, of course, wondering what it would have been like if he'd had Wesley around. Wondering what things would have been like if Wesley had been there, if there'd been two of them trying to protect Connor. 

He could tell himself that there'd be no guarantee that Wesley would have been interested in him, but he knew better. He was a vampire, and he couldn't turn off his vampire senses even though he'd have liked to. There was a slight undertone of sexual interest in Wesley's scent, enough to make Angel think that if Wesley hadn't been married--

"I think I can do this," Wesley said, cutting into Angel's thoughts. "It'll take me a few days, but I'll work as quickly as I can."

Angel nodded. "That's fine. I'm, um. I'm at the Radisson, downtown. Room 218."

"I'll call you when I'm done." Wesley smiled, putting the scroll back in the lead casket. "Thank you. I have to admit that I could use the freelance work."

"You're doing me the favor," Angel said. "I need to know what that scroll says." He picked up his briefcase--he hated carrying one, but it was a convenient way to transport the scroll--and stood up. "If you call in the daytime, I can pretty much guarantee I'll be home."

"I'll do that, then," Wesley said, rising to shake Angel's hand--his hand still feeling unusually warm on Angel's skin--before Angel left. 

***

 

It was just after dawn when the phone rang. It'd be three-something in the morning in California, too early for anything but a crisis, and so Angel picked up the phone. "Angel," he said, expecting Gunn's voice on the other end, or possibly even Spike's. 

"I've just finished," said the voice, and it took a moment for him to realize it was Wesley. 

"You sat up all night?"

"It was an intriguing problem," Wesley admitted, and Angel could hear the weariness woven through his voice. He'd have his glasses off, Angel thought; his hair would be mussed, and he'd be rubbing his eyes with one hand. Someone should be taking him by the other hand and leading him away for a well-earned rest. "Besides, the baby's teething, and if I held him, Liz could get some sleep." 

Reality again. Angel was really starting to hate that, even if he rather liked the picture of Wesley working with a baby in one arm. In his mind, Wesley's office looked like the office back at the Hyperion, and the baby looked like Connor, and it was Angel standing in the doorway, fondly watching them for a moment before asking Wesley if he was planning to come to bed. 

His mind really, really hated him. 

"I can't really come to your hotel with it," Wesley continued, after a moment; "Liz is working today, and my car's in for repairs. But if you could come by this evening--"

"To your house?"

"Well, yes."

"You do remember that I'm a vampire."

"Of course I do. And once you've gone, I'm perfectly capable of revoking the invitation."

He wasn't going to Wesley's house. That was ridiculous, and besides, he didn't want to see Wesley's family. He wasn't good with kids. He had pretty definite proof of that. 

"What time?" he said, finally. 

"Just after sunset? That'd be around… six-thirty? Seven?"

"I'll be there at seven," he said, and wrote down the address Wesley gave him. He'd get the translation from Wesley, hand over the check, and disappear. That was all Wesley was expecting from him, anyway. 

He couldn't stand an evening with a happy family, particularly not this happy family. The sooner he was back in Los Angeles, the better off he'd be. 

***

"Are you sure you're comfortable there? That couch has never been the same since Jan learned that you can bounce on the cushions." 

Angel had to admit that Elisabeth Wyndam-Pryce didn't seem _too_ concerned about the fact that her husband had invited a vampire into their home. She was a little frightened--Angel could smell it, although she'd done a good job of keeping it out of her eyes and voice--but it seemed that she had great faith in her husband's judgment. _That_ was another change from Sunnydale, and he wondered if Elisabeth simply had too much faith in Wesley, or whether they'd all misjudged him. 

"The couch is fine. Great. Thanks." It wasn't the couch making him uncomfortable. The living room was… well, it was completely unsurprising, if you knew Wesley had been a Watcher. The furniture looked as though it had had a little kid climbing on it, which it probably had. One wall was lined with bookcases, their upper shelves filled with old, leather-bound volumes and the bottom ones with picture books. All of that suited Wesley's new life. The only part that didn't fit was the sword and the axe hanging on the walls. They were far too high for a kid to reach, and they were old and ornate enough that he bet Wesley explained them as decorative antiques. From what he'd found out about Wesley, though, Angel was sure they weren't. Antiques, maybe, but not decorative.

Angel felt something pulling at the sleeve of his sweater, and looked down to see a small girl in the process of clambering up into his lap. 

"Janet," Wesley said quietly, "I don't think Angel wants to hold you. Come over and sit with me."

"He does," she said firmly, grinning up at Angel. 

"It's, um. It's all right." If Holtz hadn't kidnapped Connor, he'd be about this age, Angel thought. He'd be the one sitting on Angel's lap, getting something unidentifiable and sticky on Angel's sweater. 

Angel closed his eyes briefly, trying to stop that line of thinking. Anything would be preferable. 

Almost anything, he amended, as he looked over at Wesley. He wasn't going to sit here with Wesley's wife and Wesley's kids and think that he wished he'd been the one to find Wesley, before he'd ever met Elisabeth. 

"--did you know Wes?" Elisabeth was saying, and Angel blinked. 

"Huh? Um, sorry. My mind must have been wandering."

"I was just asking how you knew Wes."

"Oh, um…" He looked over at Wesley. It _seemed_ as though he'd been honest with her about his past, but he didn't want to make any assumptions. 

"We met in Sunnydale," Wesley answered for him. "Back when I was a Watcher."

And that, at least, gave Angel something to say in return. "How about you? How did you two meet?" There. He was being social, though this probably wasn't what Lorne had had in mind. Though Lorne probably didn't have in mind that Angel would decide that he wanted a happily-married ex-Watcher. 

"It's not terribly interesting," Wesley said, but Elisabeth shook her head. 

"He's just being modest. He saved my life." 

That was rather surprising, really, given what Angel had seen of him in Sunnydale… but maybe it wasn't. Wesley had changed a lot since then. "What happened?"

"It wasn't much," Wesley said. "She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was a demon, I was a demon hunter…."

A demon hunter. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had been a _demon hunter_? It was one thing to believe that he went after vampires who came too near his home, but another to believe that bumbling, stuffy, ineffective Wesley had been….

He looked at Wesley again, wondering where bumbling, stuffy, ineffective Wesley had gone. 

"…and then when we found out I was pregnant, he decided to find a safer profession than demon-hunting," Elisabeth said. "Which I feel a bit guilty about, but…"

"It's no world for a baby," Angel said immediately, and then, awkwardly, added, "I mean, that's what I'd think, anyway."

"That's what I thought, too," Wesley said, looking over at Angel again--or more accurately, at the child who'd decided to poke Angel in the stomach repeatedly. "I didn't want my work to come home with me." 

Angel nodded. "And this is… good. Things look like they're going well for you."

"They are," Wesley said, sharing a smile with his wife, and Angel decided that it was time for him to go. He didn't belong here. He didn't belong with happy families. He belonged back in Los Angeles, in the office that still didn't feel like his, with the employees he didn't trust--with the friends he couldn't be sure he trusted, any more, after everything that had happened to all of them. Where the only person he was sure of was Spike, and the only thing he was sure of about Spike was that he was annoying. 

"I should probably get going soon," Angel said. "I'm flying back to L.A. tonight."

"Of course. I'll get the translation for you." Wesley stood up, disappearing down a short hallway. 

Angel sat silently, relieved when Janet climbed down to go over and play with a plastic truck on the floor--would Connor have had a truck like that? Would he have made the same noises as he drove it around the room? 

The baby started fussing, and Elisabeth excused herself, which relieved Angel still more. Now there was just him and Janet, and she was ignoring him. He could almost relax. 

Until Wesley came back, with his scroll in its box and a neat folder filled with papers. Not that the room hadn't smelled like him already; Angel had been grateful that he didn't need to breathe, as that would have just filled his nose and lungs with the scent of Wesley. "I've included the notes I made while translating," Wesley said, handing him the folder first, and then the box. "They might prove useful in interpretation." Then, with a slight note of uncertainty that reminded Angel of the old Wesley, "You did want a strict translation, and _not_ interpretation and analysis, correct?" 

"That's just great, Wes--uh, Wesley. Thanks." Angel produced the check for the balance of Wesley's fee, handing it over and immediately getting to his feet. "I should get back to my hotel."

Wesley smiled. "You're welcome to stay to dinner," he said. "When I got the blood the other day, I made sure we had--"

Angel interrupted him, shaking his head. "I couldn't," he said, and wondered if Wesley's face really fell, or not. If it had, of course, it would only have been because he wanted more of a chance to talk to someone from his old life. Angel wasn't an idiot, no matter what Spike said. 

He took a business card out of his pocket, handing it to Wesley. "If there's anything Wolfram and-- anything I can do for you, give me a call, all right?" 

Wesley pocketed the card, smiling a bit. "I don't think that's very likely, but thank you."

And that was it; that was all the excuse he had for being here. Angel could hear Elisabeth coming back down the hall, and decided the best thing would be to be gone before she came back. He didn't want any more happy family scenes to remember on his way back to Los Angeles. Besides, he was impatient to get a look at the translation, to find out what the answers were that Lorne said he would find here. 

Because, of course, the answers were all in the translation, not in the man who'd written it; nothing Lorne had said had anything to do with Wesley at all, and nothing he'd been thinking of had any bearing on reality. 

Janet tugged at her father's hand, urging him to come down and play with her, and Wesley picked her up in her arms, swinging her around to make her laugh. 

Angel just let himself out into the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> [me on tumblr](https://mireille719.tumblr.com)


End file.
